


No Title

by SparrowWritingNoises



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Guns, Sadstuck, Suicide Attempt, Zombie AU, Zombiestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 23:51:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2170065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparrowWritingNoises/pseuds/SparrowWritingNoises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cronus couldn’t have possibly known that the last kiss you shared would have infected you. In fact, you’re just now coming across that knowledge yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Title

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in between inking panels for tumblr user sweet-zombie-child's zombie AU CronKri script, mainly for me to have closure more than anything else.

Your name is Kankri Vantas and you are very, very sick.

Cronus couldn’t have possibly known that the last kiss you shared would have infected you. In fact, you’re just now coming across that knowledge yourself.

The symptoms are painfully familiar. You had somehow managed to escape most of the….things you had encountered since Cronus….well, you tried really hard to not think about Cronus lately. You had kept his gun and used it a handful of times but the noise always drew more walkers. You were absolutely positive you hadn’t been bitten, though. So it came as quite a surprise to you when you were making your way down yet another alleyway and suddenly fell to your knees, vomiting whatever rations you had managed to choke down over the last few days. You push away the nagging suspicions at first, not entirely convincing yourself that the sickness was a delayed reaction to the fact that you had blown your lover’s brains out a few days ago. Unfortunately, as you picked your way through the dead city, searching aimlessly for the CDCP (you never were good with directions), you developed that gods-awful choking cough that leaves you weak at the knees and makes your stomach tremble.

It isn’t until you begin to vomit blood that you know, you know you’re infected, it settles in your bones and in your empty stomach which flops over again and makes you dry-heave in panic. You lean against the wall and stare blindly at the mess in front of you, cheeks flushed with fever, eyes narrowing. You barrel through denial, anger, bargaining, and depression and crash headlong into acceptance when another bout of coughing seizes your lungs and you double over, retching awfully. Just like Cronus. Bile splashes the ground and blood flecks the wall and your hands.

There’s now two options open to you : you could sit and wait for the infection to turn you into one of those awful, horrid creatures, or you could go like Cronus. Only there’s no one to pull the trigger for you. Which means….

You shudder. Suicide never sat well with you, but given the alternative….

Steeling your resolve, your lean with your back against the wall. You don’t think you can handle having the pistol pointed right between your eyes, you would probably twitch at the last minute and miss anyways. You cock the gun and open your mouth wide, almost welcoming the cool metal against your tongue. You don’t believe much in the afterlife or heaven or hell, but you desperately hope you can….maybe…. see….

You squeeze your eyes shut tight in anticipation, angling your thumb against the trigger. You exhale slowly, then shove against the mechanism.

There is a _click_!, and where you were expecting excruciating agony before blissful nothingness, there is only the fire in your lungs and the ache in your stomach and the pounding in your head and the stabbing guilt in your heart. You make a strangled, desperate noise as your eyes fly open and you look cross-eyed down at the instrument between your teeth. Panic grows in your chest as you squeeze the trigger again, again, again, and again, but with each click! you know. Deep down you know.

You yank the gun out of your mouth and snatch the magazine out of the handle. You glare at the cartridge in your hand. Empty. Just like you knew it would be. You bark out a pathetic sob, flinging the magazine down the alley. Even though you only fired it a few times you had no idea how many rounds Cronus used before he had found you, shivering and afraid, locked in your pantry. Truth be told you didn’t even know Cronus had had the damn thing until….

You toss the gun away like it suddenly burned you and it clatters against the far wall. It’s fucking useless. You don’t even have the strength to scream in frustration.

The only thing you can do is curl into a ball and mewl and cry pathetically while you await the inevitable.

\---------  
Weeks in the future, but not many…..

Your name is Meenah Piexas and you are slowly making your way through the middle of the city. The CDCP had been deserted and desecrated when you’d found it several days ago, but there were scrawled messages and coordinates to a quarantine zone on the outer city limits where a group of non-infected were supposedly gathering. You and Aranea have been making your way to the location with impunity but the mass of reanimated corpses was growing steadily more concentrated the farther you progressed.

Things didn’t look so bad here though. After eradicating a lingering walker you decide you both could use a break from walking.

“Hey. Look over there.”

You swing your bat over your shoulder and glance over to where Aranea is pointing.

“Yeah, it’s a walker.” You roll your shoulders, working out a crick in your neck. “Want me to get it for you?”

Aranea frowns, shaking her head. “No, actually look at it.” The tremble in her voice gives you pause. You hate it when shit bothers her. “It’s Kankri.”

You do a double-take. You don’t know how you didn’t see it before but there was no mistaking that red sweater and those awful pants, even with half of his face missing. The figure was crouched on the ground, shoveling---something? someone? it was hard to tell--into its half-mouth with reckless abandon.

“....Shit.”

“Poor kid….I guess Cronus didn’t find him in time…” Aranea mutters.

“Or something happened to him. Really, he should have known better than to go off on his own.” Your stupid cousin had left the group (well, now it was just you and Aranea, Rufioh and Horuss had disappeared in the middle of the night without a word and Damara….poor Damara, she never saw it coming, you still get sick to your stomach when you think about it,) a while ago to find his boyfriend, but you hadn’t seen him since. You had held out a tiny sliver of hope that he would be okay but if Kankri is like this then that could only mean one thing for Cronus.

You slowly approach Ka--- No. Not Kankri anymore.

It really was a damn shame, you had really liked the kid and enjoyed his company even if he could get a little naggy. You shrug your bat off your shoulder and prepare to swing.

“Meenah, what are you--!”

A loud _thwack_! sounds as your Slugger connects with the walker’s skull. Your aim has improved significantly, it only takes one strike to bludgeon the shambling mess to death. It crumples over the mass it had been ingesting with a sick squelching sound. You frown at the chunks of flesh and matter clinging to your bat.

You stare hard at what was once your friend, your dumb cousin’s dorky boyfriend that liked to get into heated debates with you while you lounged around his house and pestered Cronus, the kid who refused to wear anything other than that garrish sweater (or multiples of it, you hoped), the guy who made your cousin a better person just by being around him. You swipe angrily at your eyes and wonder when it started fucking raining cause there is no way in hell you would be crying right now.

Not like you were new to killing someone close to you.

“He wouldn’t have wanted to be like that,” you mutter, not looking at Aranea.

She raises an eyebrow.

“No, I suppose not.”

She picks her way gingerly over towards you, grabbing for your unoccupied hand. You grasp hers and squeeze it. She makes no move to wipe the offending tears from your face and you love her for that. You turn to her, staring into her eyes, searching her face.

“....Hey. Promise you won’t let me get like that. If...something happens….”

Aranea places a finger over your lips, silencing you. “Of course. I would expect the same from you.”

“....Yeah. You got it.”


End file.
